


we will never be here again

by StrawberryyyMilk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Slow Burn Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryyyMilk/pseuds/StrawberryyyMilk
Summary: The Cool Summary: Keith has seen the boy with the blue eyes murder two people without even flinching. So, he asks himself, why isn't he afraid of him?A story about morals and also maybe love.The Actual Summary: Keith and Lance and Pirates and Ships and Floofy Shirts That Float In the Breeze. I wanted a pirate AU so I wrote a pirate AU. I am not a pirate. Bear with me.tw: attempted sexual assault & kidnapping, references to slave trafficking, violence and possibly more. chapters are marked.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt
Kudos: 7





	we will never be here again

**Author's Note:**

> tw: attempted sexual assault & kidnapping, violence, blood

Keith was running for his life. He had no idea _why_ he was running, or what he was running from, but he certainly didn’t want anything more to do with it. One moment he was smoking black poppyseeds out the back of the Golden Serpent, and the next he was being dragged into this mess. His heart beat wildly as he sped down narrow, dripping alleyways, dodging puddles of water that glistened grotesquely in the moonlight. Whoever was chasing him had obviously mistaken him for someone else, at least, thats what he hoped. But there’s very little time to stop and chat when someone is running at you with brass knuckles, so Keith hadn’t blinked. He’d run. And he was still running what felt like hours later, now attempting to lose the guy in the maze of alleys that made up The Way, Keiths home. Any newcomer would be lost pretty quickly, but this person was hanging onto his tail and he was running out of places to go. A sharp left, curved right and turn at the inn would get him out of the rat race, but then he’d be much easier to follow. And a kid running in the dead of night would attract much worse attention than some mugger. Before he could make a decision, his foot caught on a broken piece of cobble and he toppled over, tripping sideways into a mini alley that led, of course, to a dead end. Just his luck. Turning around, he picked a broken brick up off the ground and faced the entrance. His breathing sped up, chest heaving from the effort of running, arms sweaty and cold. His pursuer careened around the corner, almost running straight into Keith, who sidestepped away and tried to back out of the alley.

“Don’t touch me,” Keith growled.

“What?”

He blinked. On closer inspection, the man didn’t seem to be attacking him. He wasn’t in a fighting stance, didn’t look threatening, heck his brass knuckles weren’t even on anymore. And he was shaking. Visibly shaking. As if he was absolutely petrified of something.

“Why were you running after me?” Keith asked.

“Keep your damn voice down! D’you want to lure him straight to our spot?”

“Lure who?”

“I-“ the mans voice died in his throat.

“Who are you talking about?” said Keith, growing more and more confused by the second.

“Lure me.”

Keith whipped around. The alleyway behind him was empty. Maybe a slight salty smell. But nothing to make someone go as white as a sheet. Then, behind him, the man gave a quiet moan, and a soft _thunk_ , like a cut tree toppling over onto wet leaves. Keith turned back. The man was lying face down on the cobbles, a curved sword protruding from his neck. Blood seeped onto the stones, the rich tang of iron filling Keiths nostrils. He twitched, his legs spasming for half a second, then fell silent. Dead.

The owner of the sword stood up, pulling the edge of his coat out of a puddle of blood with a tut.

“Ruining my new coat. And I only got it yesterday as well.”

Keith stood completely still. His mind was having a hard time catching up with events - fast reactions were never something he boasted about. But he had just seen a man get murdered in front of him. And his killer was just. Standing there. Looking at Keith. Complaining about his new coat.

And he was undoubtedly hot.

_What??_

His brain finally, finally caught up with things and he realised that the person - boy - demon? had asked him a question.

“What?”

The stranger sighed through his nose.

“I said, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. Jail is not the lap of luxury, and I prefer 3 course meals over dry bread and water.”

Keith shook his head. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

A snort. Through the nose. This person did a lot of things through the nose, apparently.

“Would you like me to?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then I’ll bid you good day and be on my way.” A small chuckle, and the boy pushed passed him into the main alley and sauntered off in the direction of the harbour.

“Wait!”

Keith shoved himself off a wall and sprinted into the alley. But, the boy was gone. A cool breeze brushed the walls of the buildings, and his eyes were drawn to a man staring suspiciously out the dim window of a pawn shop. He _had_ just run out of a dark alley, covered in something that in the darkness looked a lot like blood and - he glanced down at his hand - he was still clutching the brick, which was _also_ smeared with dark liquid. He looked up at the window. They locked eyes. And Keith, of course, bolted.

Ribs aching from doing more running than he’d had to do in a while, Keith stopped for a breather by a communal tap outside one of the nicer restaurants in one of the better parts of Kestra. No respectable people were out past 10, and the streets were silent. Keith stripped down to his underwear and washed himself off using the water from the tap, before taking a few sips and rinsing the oil-water-gunk off his clothes and worn boots. He squeezed each one out and put them on again, even though they itched and clung to his skin in a gross way. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, trying not to think about what he had seen. A man. Dead. And he hadn’t even done anything. He had let the killer go and even let himself think that he was _hot_. A murderer. Hot. He cringed in on himself and closed his eyes. Let himself breathe for a moment. Felt the wetness of sleep washing over him bit by little bit. _I shouldn’t sleep here. It’s too exposed._ But he was so tired that he could barely move. Just a few more minutes…

His eyes flipped open just in time to see a hand crash against his skull, pushing it back against the sharp edge of a brick.

“What the _fuck_ -“ he gasped out, before a gritty hand was pressed over his mouth. His nostrils stung with the stench of old beer. Keiths eyes were still bleary from sleep and pain, and it the smell made them water even more. His mouth was freed, and the man leered at his face.

“Pretty little thing aren’t you? She’ll like you… she’ll like you a lot. Might even give me a few goes on you as reward. Wouldn’t that be good.” He waggled his eyebrows and raked his fingers through Keiths hair, pinning his head back up against the wall.

In a sudden rush of realisation, Keith knew exactly what this man wanted to do with him. And he was not going to let it happen. Without pausing to think, he pushed his leg away from the wall and shoved the man off with the soul of his boot. The man staggered back with a look of shock, obviously not expecting Keith to retaliate with that much strength. Before he could recover, Keith lunged off from the wall, dragging his arm behind him to aim it in a punch that landed squarely on the jaw. He was cold and shaking and so furious that he saw white. He was not going to let this happen. His feet and fists moved before he’d even told them, before he knew what he was doing. Again and again he dug his fingernails into pale, muggy flesh, ripping open skin. The man was much bigger, and was fighting back, flinging punches whenever he could, but Keith was cold. he was mechanic. Nothing could stop him from ripping this man limb from limb from mangled-

A yelp of surprised left his mouth as he was pulled back from the person by his sopping shirt and flung away. Flat on his cheek, he saw boots that looked oddly familiar step up to the man lying on the ground. A flash of silver, and a sword was run squarely through his neck.

_Oh. It’s him._

A salty smell. And, finally, silence.

**Author's Note:**

> and so it begins.
> 
> 1 comment = 1 extra hour of sleep for this anxious insomniac (writing & other advice is double!)
> 
> love you <3


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